


The Performer

by theianitor



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ends before Plot, Jazz - Freeform, M/M, One Shot, Spies & Secret Agents, Suits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:08:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22442320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theianitor/pseuds/theianitor
Summary: Mark had been in the game long enough to notice the little things. Flirting with the waitress was nothing but cover and he could tell. Jenson was letting himself be noticed, and being a good tipper gave people the impression that you were a good guy. But the smile and wink was practiced, and typical of a bar setting. Now, however, Jenson had a proper smile on his face, soft and almost tender, and it was the kind of smile that shone in his eyes as well. Only he wasn’t looking at the waitress.
Relationships: Jenson Button/Sebastian Vettel (mentioned)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39





	The Performer

**Author's Note:**

> Finally got back to listening to some music and some words appeared. It felt good, and it's kind of sweet, so why not post, I figure? Hope you like.  
> If you need a dose of the 'speedier number' described, here you go: https://youtu.be/qu4gkmOrjDE

Mark stepped into the bar, nodding at the girl in wardrobe but keeping his jacket on as he ventured further inside. Red wall-to-wall carpet muffled his steps instantly and the wood along the walls and over by the bar was in a warm tone, making the whole room seem a lot warmer than the street outside. The dress code appeared to be a little above what he’d been expecting, and it would probably have made him less conspicuous to wear a suit – or take his jacket off, if the holster of his gun hadn’t been pressing into his side. At least nobody had checked for that.

The sounds from the street disappeared, giving way to the usual low murmur of talk, the clinking of glasses and sometimes higher gales of laughter, all set to the backdrop of a soft jazz song, as played by a live band on the stage below. Mark shook his head with a smile. Six months in Berlin and his German still hadn’t gone beyond polite touristy phrases, pleases and thank yous; something about hearing jazz in German made it sound positively alien.

“Mark!” a familiar voice called. “Come here, let me get you something.”

Jenson, who seemed quite comfortable here, turned back to the bartender and ordered in his fairly poor German.

“Thanks mate,” Mark said, taking a seat next to Jenson and accepting a tall glass of foaming beer. “You should’ve told me to get the fancy clothes out.”

“Oh, this?” Jenson smirked, looking down at his own dark blue suit. “It’s better if you don’t look like a regular, since you’re not.”

“I don’t understand why we had to meet _here_.”

Jenson sipped his beer and smacked his lips. “Well I wanted you to meet the new liaison on his home turf, so he’ll be comfortable. Considering who he’s connected too he’s not too used to feeling safe.”

“Horner?”

“I suspect it goes even further.”

Mark’s glass was halfway to his mouth but he’d frozen mid-motion. “You’re not serious?”

“Yeah,” Jenson said, his eyes seemingly focused on the wall of bottles behind the bar but in reality looking somewhere very far away. “I think he might be able to lead us to Doctor Marko.”

They sat in silence for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts. If MI6 could bring in any kind of lead on where the infamous Doctor Marko might be holed up, it would be huge.

“So,” Mark finally said, half his beer gone and another song long-since started, “who’s the contact?”

“Oh, right, yeah. He should be available pretty soon.” He looked over his shoulder and out over the crowd. “Let’s go downstairs.”

“We won’t be able to hear ourselves think over all that.”

“What, you don’t like jazz, Mark?”

“Not particularly,” Mark grumbled, getting up to follow Jenson, who shot him a grin and then started winding his way between the revelers.

Downstairs was dotted with tables and Mark’s feeling of being at some kind of Great Gatsby-themed party only increased. Several men were in old-style suits, some of them were even wearing hats indoors, and plenty of the women had flapper-type dresses on. He felt very out of place.

“Seriously, is there some kind of special event on or something?” he asked as they sat down, much too close to the stage for his own liking.

“No, it’s always like this.”

“German big band jazz and a roaring twenties party, it’s...”

“Yeah, I know,” Jenson conceded with a chuckle. “Still, this guy is brilliant, and you’ll never find a more inconspicuous contact, I promise.”

“An inconspicuous German agent? I’ll believe it when I see it,” Mark scoffed into his glass. His experience so far told him the German office came with agents of one of two types: the paragraph-worshipping office types, and the excessively flamboyant ones who insisted they were ‘typical Berlin’, despite drawing every eye in the room wherever they went.

“Relax, trust me. This guy is good.” Jenson sat back, flicking his fingers up at a waitress who instantly appeared at their table to take their glasses, swiftly returning with filled ones. Jenson smiled and gave her entirely too big a tip, causing the young lady to blush and break her professional veneer with an honest smile, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

“I can see you fit right in here.”

“Oh shut up,” Jenson said, looking up at the stage and pushing Mark’s new beer towards him. “Just enjoy the show or something.”

Mark had been in the game long enough to notice the little things. Flirting with the waitress was nothing but cover and he could tell. Jenson was letting himself be noticed, and being a good tipper left a good impression – it gave people the impression that you were a good guy. But the smile and wink was practiced, and pretty typical of a bar setting. Now, however, Jenson had a proper smile on his face, soft and almost tender, and it was the kind of smile that shone in his eyes as well. Only he wasn’t looking at the waitress.

“Any particular reason you’re suddenly into jazz, Jense?” Mark said, smirking as Jenson shot him an _almost_ guilty glance before turning his eyes back on the stage.

It was another almost soft song, a little more sinister-sounding, proper twenties gangster-jazz, and Mark gave the singer a good long look now.

He was younger than the music had first suggested, and his voice bore no accent of anything but German. He was in a white three-piece suit and a slim black tie, the look topped off with a black hat with white band and a small, red feather. From above, he had looked much smaller but now that they were seated nearer the stage he walked around just above them, his shiny black shoes reflecting the stage lights.

Despite not liking the music much, Mark could see the singer was a decent performer, walking back and forth, delivering his song to the audience and giving the words a fair bit of feeling. The young man flung his arms wide as the song ended, as if inviting the whole crowd into the final few notes. Behind him the band finished on a high, trombones and trumpets giving the song a proper, big jazz finish.

“So,” Mark said as he politely applauded along with the crowd. “You’ve been doing some _liaising_ on the side of your assignment then?”

“He’s... it’s not... I’m...”

“I thought this was a bar, mate. Sounds a lot like a fishmongers with all that floundering.” Mark chuckled. Jenson was usually very composed, so it was nice to see him just a bit on the back foot.

“Okay, okay,” Jenson said, waving his hand for Mark to stop. “Okay, yeah, fine. But he’s _delightful_.”

Mark looked back to the stage as a speedier number started up, and had to admit the singer looked alright. Now he was smiling as he sang, dancing along and doing a little slide as the song went into the chorus. It felt a bit like stepping back in time, but Mark had to admit it was kind of charming, and considering the atmosphere, this guy had found the perfect job.

“So when am I going to meet this new contact of yours? Or are you going to introduce me to your boyfriend first?”

“Same person, Mark.”

Mark choked on a mouthful of beer and coughed into his glass.

“What?!”

“Sebastian,” Jenson said, nodding towards the stage. “He’s the new liaison for the Marko-case.” He straightened his tie and ran a hand through his hair. “And my... boyfriend.”

Again, Mark thanked his thorough training for being able to be completely blown away but still quickly fall into the act of being in full control. Despite being surprised at the sheer idiocy of getting involved with a contact from another agency, he noticed how Jenson acted at his choice of words. The relationship was new, still not on steady enough ground to be joked about or branded with such serious terms. And Jenson _cared_. He wasn’t about to tell Mark off, not when it came to a contact, but Mark could tell that if this Sebastian had been anyone else, someone not privy to their jobs or the agency, he would have gotten a hiding.

“So...” Mark said, looking back to the stage. Sebastian was heading into the last chorus, the music going up a note or so as he spun around, doing another of his little slides with his arm outstretched and then almost skipping two steps to the side. _Another flashy, eye-catching German to deal with,_ he thought. “This guy is good?”

“The best. Perfect cover, blends in well, and he’s been with the agency for years. He’s been doing this band-thing for the past few, explains lengthy absences and travels to foreign countries,” Jenson said quickly. “But even before that, he was good. Never had his cover blown, not once. Very professional.”

“Aside from when he’s falling into bed with the agent from MI6?” Mark said, unable to stop himself.

The performance ended and they applauded as Sebastian stepped forward, bowing and removing his hat, and then moved aside to indicate that the crowd should also applaud the band.

“Come on,” Jenson said, leading them both to the lobby and down a little hall Mark had noticed on his way in. He’d written off only as a possible exit due to the sign indicating there was a fire exit at the end of the hall. Now he realized it was the dressing rooms and musician’s storage rooms, as they met several neatly dressed but rather sweaty people carrying instruments.

“Seb in yet?” Jenson asked a guy walking past carrying a trombone.

“Kommt gleich,” the man said with a broad grin. “Soon, he comes soon.”

“Yeah I’ll bet,” Mark muttered, throwing a smile on to nod his thanks too as the band member moved past him down the hall.

They were left standing in the hall for a few minutes, dodging the members of Sebastian’s band and their instruments, until finally they were the only ones left. Mark was just about to ask if maybe they’d missed him somehow, when a door to their right opened.

“Jenson!”

Mark blinked as Jenson stepped forward, smiling brightly and enveloping the young man inside the room in a hug.

“You were great, sweetheart. As usual.”

On stage, the young man had been a _presence_ , drawing all eyes to him with his white suit and his flashy moves, dancing along like it was all invented on the spot, such a natural performer that it seemed unlikely he even existed outside of the spotlight.

Before him stood a young man in blue jeans and a slightly too-big gray knitted shirt, closing his eyes as he hugged Jenson tight, his hair a mousy dark blonde and his whole stance almost shy. When they let go of each other, he pulled his hands back into his sleeves and gave them a little tug.

“It was good? Really?”

“It was brilliant,” Jenson said, stroking Sebastian’s cheek. He tilted his head down with a bashful smile and if Mark wasn’t completely mistaken, there was a slight blush in his cheeks.

Now Mark was used to playing a role, to fitting in and disappearing, to being whatever a mission called for him to be. He knew Jenson was the same way, had seen him act as everything from a corporate CEO and nouveau riche brat to street-wise cabbie and homeless person. But never before had he seen a stage persona be so thoroughly just that. It was as if the lights going off had taken Sebastian’s brightly shining suit with them, leaving him... plain.

Sebastian stepped aside to let them in to his small dressing room. His suit was already in a bag, hanging on the wardrobe door, and his hat with the red feather was perched on the table in front of a well-lit mirror. He closed the door and turned to face them. Jenson took it upon himself to make the introductions.

“Mark, this is Sebastian, our contact within the BND. Sebastian, this is Mark.”

They shook hands, studying each other as discreetly as possible, the habits of field work not going away just because they happened to be in the presence of other agents.

“Mark,” Sebastian repeated, giving his hand one last squeeze before letting go and moving to Jenson’s side. “Where do we start?”

\- The End -

**Author's Note:**

> All in good fun, as per usual! :)  
> Thanks for the read, and any kudos and comments! <3


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